two bits
by airbefore
Summary: Anxiety knots in her stomach as she fills the sink with warm water, touches her fingertips to the assortment of items she needs for this. Her body aches with the weight of the week and she wants nothing more than to crawl into bed next to him, to feel the solid presence of his body against hers as she tries to sleep. One shot. Complete.


**Disclaimer:**All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.

**AN:** Written from a prompt provided by one of the winners (who wishes to remain anonymous) of the fic giveaway I did on my Tumblr last month. This is only one of three excellent prompts this person provided and I'd like to heartily thank her for the inspiration. And thank you in advance for reading.

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The squeak of skin against glass bounces off the tiled walls as she wipes the steam from the mirror, her reflection smudged and watery. Her toes curl into the thick pile of the bathmat and she takes herself in, fingers dipping into the dark circles under her eyes on the way to scrape her damp hair back from her face. Pulling it into a loose knot at the base of her neck, Kate takes a deep breath, tries to sooth her frayed nerves. Anxiety knots in her stomach as she fills the sink with warm water, touches her fingertips to the assortment of items she needs for this. Her body aches with the weight of the week and she wants nothing more than to crawl into bed next to him, to feel the solid presence of his body against hers as she tries to sleep - _really_ sleep - for the first time since -

The sharp clink of porcelain catches her attention, pulling her off the edge before she topples over, spirals back into the pit she'd only managed to escape a few hours before. Kate focuses on him as she turns, taking him in with a soft smile. Castle sits on the closed lid of the toilet, hair hanging in limp spikes over his forehead, right arm strapped tightly across his bare chest. The rough edge of the velcro rasps against his skin as he shifts on the hard plastic seat, pajama pants twisting loosely around his waist.

"Stop wiggling." She steps between his spread legs and stills him with her fingers curled over his good shoulder, the lingering heat from the shower radiating from his skin. "I'm about to be very close to your face -"

"My pretty, pretty face," he chimes in, tugging on the hem of her shirt. "You have to say it right."

"No."

"You gotta hold up your end of the deal, Beckett."

"There is no deal." She runs her hand up the slope of his shoulder, the side of her thumb dragging over his collarbone. "I was under duress."

"Hey, no one made you promise to do anything if I would just live."

Her hand tightens around his neck as she sways on the spot, the image of his pale face and blood soaked shirt slamming into the backs of her eyes. She'd held him in her lap, hands pressed hard against the jagged tear in his arm, as Esposito wrangled the suspect and Ryan called for a bus. Castle had tried to reassure her, his left hand resting over hers, the blood seeping through their laced fingers; his face twisted into a grimace as he told her over and over that it was just a flesh wound, that he'd be fine. She'd scrubbed her hands raw in the bathroom at the hospital, sobbing into the sink while she watched the dark copper of his blood swirl down the drain. Three days later and even though she knows it's all in her head, she can still see it on her skin, a faint tinge of pink that she's not sure will ever completely fade.

The touch of his fingertips at her elbow draws her gaze down and she blinks, tries to calm her riotous heart. He's here. Forty-three stitches and a dislocated shoulder, but he's here. Alive. Kate pushes out a heavy breath, forces the hand on his neck to relax, her fingers digging tunnels through the wet hair at the back of his head.

"Too soon for jokes?" Castle slides his hand up her forearm to her wrist, thumb caressing the thumping button of her pulse, an apology swimming in his eyes. .

"Way too soon." Her laugh is a shaky and brittle thing, falling apart as soon as it passes her lips. "Not sure this one will ever be funny, Castle."

He leans forward and rests his forehead against her ribs, hot breath seeping through the thin cotton of the t-shirt she'd stolen from his dresser on the way to the shower. "I know the feeling," he sighs and her heart seizes, the words hitting her center of mass, knocking her off balance.

The room spins out of focus for a second and her stomach rolls, the echo of that day ghosting through her body. Castle releases her wrist and wraps his arm tightly around her back, turning his head to press his cheek into her stomach. Kate lets her hand trail down his back, fingers slaloming through the valley of his spine as his ribs expand and contract in a comforting rhythm. She gives them both a moment to gather themselves, to let the rush of memories subside, before leaning back on her heels and smiling softly down at him.

Cupping his face, she taps his cheekbone with the tip of her index finger before running the flat of her thumb along the line of his jaw, three days worth of stubble like sandpaper against her skin. "Let's get you shaved, yeah?"

Castle nods at her, the thin rays of a smile breaking through the clouded look of pain. "Yeah," he releases her and scrubs at his face, "I'm too old for the vagabond hipster look."

Scraping her nails lightly over his cheek, Kate quirks an eyebrow. "I don't know, Castle. Scruffy suits you. I like it; kinda reminds me of when we first met."

"You like being reminded of when you wrongly assumed I was an inconsiderate jackass?"

"The stubble wasn't a factor in that entirely accurate assessment," she retorts, stepping away from him and back toward the counter.

"Whatever," he singsongs, watching her with bright eyes as she soaks a hand towel in the sink, pressing it down into the water until the mint green turns olive. "Deny it all you want but we both know you wanted me from the start. It was written all over your pinched and angry face."

"You keep telling yourself that."

She wrings most of the water out of the towel before moving back in between his legs and placing two fingers under his chin, tipping his head back. Castle closes his eyes and hums when she drapes the warm terry cloth over his cheeks. Grabbing the shaving mug and brush, she twists the damp bristles through the cream until the lather is the consistency she's seen him use so many times over the past year. The scent of sandalwood, earthy and dark and so perfectly _him_, wafts through the room as the fingers of his left hand slide up and down the back of her thigh and she has to bite back the low moan brewing in the base of her throat.

The towel hits the edge of the sink with a wet plop and his eyes slip lazily open as his fingers creep higher, brushing along the edge of her underwear, nails catching at the lace. Kate presses her lips together, tightening the reins on the smile that threatens to break free, and pulls the brush out of the cup, the tip painted with a thick coat of lather. The bristles scratch against his skin as she draws a thick line over his left cheek.

"Swirl it."

"What?"

"Swirl the brush," he clarifies, mimicking the motion with the hand strapped to his chest. "You get better distribution that way."

Kate dips the brush back into the cup, gathering a generous dollop of the shaving cream. She swirls it over his right cheek and chin before going back for more to cover his jaw and neck. "Why can't you do this the easy way?" She draws the brush over his left cheek again, smoothing out the mess of her first attempt. "A disposable razor and a can of foam would make this so much less of a _process_."

"The wet shave is a dying art."

"Probably because it's such a pain in the ass."

"No, it's classic. Pure. This is how our grandfathers used to shave, with good soap and a sharp razor. None of that aerosolized chemical crap for them."

The ceramic mug hits the counter with a thump as she chuckles. "That whole Barber in a Can thing really did a number on you, huh?"

"Capillary damage is not a joke, Beckett."

"Of course not." Kate grabs the razor out of the sink, the metal handle warm against her palm. "Wouldn't want anything happening to your pretty, pretty face."

Castle beams up at her, eyes dancing. Taking a deep breath, she leans into him and lifts the razor. The unease churning in her stomach must be reflected on her face because he wraps his fingers around her wrist, holding her hand a few inches away from his cheek. "Loosen your grip" he instructs, voice soothing and gentle as he drags his thumb across the base of palm. Kate follows the direction and blood flows back into her blanched knuckles. Castle pushes the handle of the razor up, increasing the distance between the blade and her fingers. "A light touch is the key. Don't press down, just let the weight of the razor do the work. All you want to do is guide it."

At her nod of understanding, he releases her wrist, his large hand migrating back to her thigh. His fingers skirt under the hem of her shirt, thumb drawing small, soft circles against her skin. Slowly, Kate moves her hand toward his face and starts, watching his eyes slip closed when she makes the first pass over his left cheek.

The soft pop and hiss of the deflating bubbles are a counterpoint to his steady breaths as she guides the razor across his skin, rinsing it in the sink after every few strokes. The blade catches the stiff spikes of hair with a quiet rasp that sets off a buzzing in her chest, warmth spreading out into her limbs. They've shared so much in the time they've been together - showers, meals, beds, passion - but this - This is somehow _more_. The intimacy swamps her veins, sending her heart stuttering. Castle hums when she brushes the fingers of her free hand through the hair at his temple, running over his scalp to cup the back of his head.

"You should be a barber," he breathes, lips barely parting. "You're really good at this."

"You're biased." Kate passes over his right cheek in short, quick strokes, taking care to follow the grain of his hair. "And I already have a job."

"You could do both. Be a sexy barber Detective. Solve crimes between shaves."

"I think that pain pill you took before the shower finally kicked in."

"Don't try to pass my brilliance off as a mere side effect of narcotics, Beckett."

"Perish the thought," she says, sliding her hand around to his cheek and spreading her fingers, tilting his face toward the ceiling with her thumb pressed under his chin. Castle just smiles and continues to run his hand over the back of her leg, drifting a little higher with each pass. Kate rinses the razor in the sink and leans over him, stretching the skin on his neck taut with her fingers at his jaw. His thumb scrapes under the edge of her underwear, dipping into the crease of her thigh, and she startles back, the razor slipping dangerously.

"You have to stop that." She pivots her knee in and out, shaking the muscles under his palm. "You cannot fondle me while I have a razor blade pressed to your throat."

Castle slides his hand down, a soft rumble of agreement rolling through his chest. "Yeah," he murmurs, the tips of his fingers caressing the top of her calf, "that's a little too kinky even for us."

Kate barks out a laugh and resumes her task, pulling his skin tight while carefully drawing the razor over the thick line of his neck. They both hold their breath when she reaches his Adam's apple, the sharp protrusion a daunting obstacle. A bright red dot springs up on the side of his throat and her heart stumbles.

"Shit, I cut you." The razor clatters into the sink and she presses the tip of one finger against the mark.

"It's fine." His head falls forward as he speaks, eyes heavy lidded. "I cut myself all the time. It's not a big deal."

Unconvinced, Kate increases the pressure of her hand, the tiny spot of blood sticky against her skin. "I'm so sorry, Castle." She can feel his pulse thumping steadily against her palm and she tries to regulate her breathing, match it to the rhythm of his heart. "I - I'm -"

The words hang in her throat, the emotional upheaval of the past week hitting her full force. She can feel herself crumbling; wants to laugh at the absurdity of losing it over a shaving nick. Her eyes flick over him greedily; desperately seeking reassurance in the pink in his cheeks, the warm understanding in his eyes. She ghosts her left hand over his injured shoulder, the fresh gauze too white against the mottled purple of his skin. His fingers clench against the back of her knee and she meets his eyes again, heart slamming violently against her ribs.

"Kate." His voice is soft, a mellifluous tone that smoothes the sharp edges of panic slicing through her chest. "It's just a little nick. I'm okay."

"Castle-"

"I know." Slipping his arm back around her waist, he pulls her closer. "I know. But I'm okay. Really."

Kate closes her eyes and exhales, pushing it out, letting go of as much as she can.

He's okay.

Opening her eyes, she gives him a trembling smile before removing her hand from his neck. The nick isn't even visible. Kate grabs the towel, the heat of the water having long since dissipated, and runs it over his face and throat, wiping away the leftover traces of shaving cream. Scooping up the last bottle from the counter, she flips the cap open and tips it over her hand. The balm is creamy and cool against her palms as she rubs them together before moving to his face, smoothing over his skin in long, slow strokes. Castle watches her through fluttering eyelids, a happy little sound buzzing in his throat.

Sweeping her fingers over his brow and down his cheeks one last time, Kate leans back to survey her work, wiping her hands on the damp towel. Castle sways a little, body loose and liquid, and she quickly grabs him, one hand cradling his neck and the other wrapping around his left arm. The counter is a mess and she knows she should stop and clean it now but the lure of his bed, of curling her body around his and falling into a peaceful sleep, is far too strong to resist.

"Bedtime," she says, tugging him forward and coaxing him to stand. Lifting his arm, she drapes it over her shoulders and fits herself into his side, holding him around the waist as she guides them out of the bathroom.

"Mmm, yeah." Castle's hand gravitates to her ass as they shuffle across the bedroom, his body listing heavily into hers. "I've missed being in bed with you," he mutters, the words thick and slow. "Gonna rock your world, Beckett."

"I think the world rocking will have to wait a little while, Casanova. At least until you're off the painkillers and have two working arms again."

"I could rock your world with no arms," he huffs, mouth drooping petulantly as she gently pushes him down onto the bed.

"I know. Your prowess is legendary."

"Damn right."

Kate laughs and helps him stretch out on his back, arranging the pillows around his injured side. His eyes are already closed when she climbs in beside him and pulls the covers up. Carefully, Kate rolls into him, letting her leg fall over his, curling herself around his good arm. Castle's fingers grip her thigh and he sighs deeply, face going slack. She watches him for a minute before pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder and dropping her head onto her own pillow. The scent of sandalwood fills her lungs as she drifts off to sleep, her hand curled protectively over his heart.


End file.
